


Angel Dark, Demon Bright

by smaragdbird



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Character(s) Wanted It But Not Like This, Crying, Forced to rape victim to spare them from a worse fate, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutual Non-Consent, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Kissing, Pinned by the Neck, Psychological Torture, Rape as Revenge, Raping One Character for the Effects on Another Character, Revenge, Threats of torture, Torture, rape as punishment, rape to keep victim (or their loved ones) in line, rapist taunts that victim's love interest won't want them now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 21:51:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17009868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/pseuds/smaragdbird
Summary: Louise Iver intends to hurt Chandler, and is willing to engineer anything to make that happen, and Leo Fitzgerald has nothing to lose





	Angel Dark, Demon Bright

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arazsya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arazsya/gifts).



Emerson felt groggy when he woke up as if he had been drinking too much the night before. Except that he couldn’t remember that he had. It had been a normal work night, he had lingered behind as usual, watching Chandler from the corners of his eyes as he tidied the office. Ever since the Cult case had literally gone up in flames two weeks ago, Chandler had been almost robotic in his interactions with them. He worried but he didn’t know how to breach the subject, didn’t know if he should.

There was also the unresolved, open ended, maybe, almost date. The team hadn’t gone out that night of course and neither he nor Chandler had brought it up. Even Mansell had left the topic alone.

Shaking the sleep from his mind, Emerson noticed that he was sitting in a chair, and that his hands were tied together in his lap. Panic flooded through him, making him wide awake. He struggled to his feet only to slam into something shaped like a table that made him fall back onto the chair.

The room was pitch black. There was no telling where he was or why. For a moment he closed his eyes to regain his calm and get his panic under control. Carefully he reached out with his tied hands and touched the surface in front of him.

It was a table as far as he could tell, though apparently bolted to the floor since it didn’t move when he pushed against it. Slowly he rose to his feet again and started to move alongside the table.

Emerson tried to listen into the darkness. How big was the room? Was he alone or was someone else here with him? As soon as the thought occurred to him, he felt as if something was watching him, something predatory tracking his every move but all he could hear was his own breath and the blood rushing through his veins.

He had been trained to deal with being taken hostage but he couldn’t recall any details right now. His pockets were empty he noticed after a quick search as well as he could with bound hands. Someone wanted him alive but why?

The last thing he could recall was being at the office. Had they even noticed he was missing yet? What time was it? How long had he been unconscious?

“Hello?” Emerson asked into the darkness. “Is anyone there?”

There was no answer. There was no noise at all.

“Hello”, Emerson called again, louder this time. “Can anyone here me?”

Still nothing. But suddenly the lights came on, obnoxiously bright, blinding him. Emerson screwed his eyes tightly shut before blinking a few times in an attempt to get used to it. The room he was in very much looked like an interrogation room including a one-way window on one of the walls. There was even a side table with a kettle, a mug and some sachets of sugar.

The door opened but out of everyone Emerson would never have expected to see the man in front of him.

“Sir?” He asked, too surprised to react to anything else but the fact that Chandler was standing in the doorway. He was wearing yesterday’s suit and there was something hollow in his eyes that scared Emerson.

“Move”, another voice said even though he hadn’t heard it in two years, Emerson recognised it immediately. “Sit down.”

Chandler obeyed, sitting down on the chair on the other side of the table from Emerson. Only now did he notice that Chandler was holding his hands behind his back.

Fitzgerald grinned nastily at Emerson as he locked the cuffs to the back of the chair.

“You are prison”, Emerson said, the first thing that came to his mind. Fitzgerald had been tried and convicted for his cooperation with the Krays. The evidence had been so tight that no one had questioned Emerson’s re-telling of the night in the incident room had been trashed.

“My new boss pulled a few strings”, Fitzgerald replied as he checked that the cuffs were properly tied to the chair. “Got me released early.”

Emerson took a step backwards, but he had forgotten about the chair being there and his knee caught on the edge. He fell to the floor with a pained grunt. A moment later Fitzgerald was by his side and pulled him up by his arm.

“Don’t injure yourself yet, that’s my job.”

Emerson tried unsuccessfully to wrest himself out of Fitzgerald’s grip. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh yeah?” Fitzgerald grabbed his chin with his free hand. “What are you going to do about it, pretty boy?” And with that he kissed Emerson, tongue pushing insistently at his closed lips before he let go.

Emerson rubbed his mouth over his shoulder to rub it off as well as he could, to Fitzgerald’s laughter before he was pushed down on the chair though not cuffed to it.

“What do you want?” He asked, with a quick, worried look in Chandler’s direction who had not reacted at all.

“From you?” Fitzgerald replied. “Absolutely nothing. You’re here because of him. He’s the one who’s been getting on my boss’ nerves lately.”

“Who is your boss?” Emerson asked. The longer he kept Fitzgerald talking the more likely it was that someone would arrive to rescue them. Their team would notice both of them being absent from work, especially if they didn’t answer their phones.

Fitzgerald shot him another nasty grin. “You know her.”

Louise Iver. It had to be Louise Iver. The idea alone made Emerson’s blood run cold.

“You can’t think you’re going to get away with this”, Emerson said, giving Chandler another glance. Why hadn’t he spoken yet? What had Fitzgerald done to him?

“Even if I don’t, it won’t matter.” Fitzgerald shrugged. “I’ll get my revenge either way and I’ll know I left a mark on you even more disfiguring than the Krays did to you.”

“I’m not scared of you”, Emerson lied.

Fitzgerald laughed but instead of answering, he turned to Chandler. “I have a deal for you.”

Slowly Chandler turned his eyes to him. “No.”

“That was quick”, Fitzgerald seemed more amused than anything else.

“Whatever you and your…boss”, Chandler spat the word, “have to offer, my answer is no.”

“I think you will change your mind eventually, but fair enough.” Fitzgerald’s nonchalance was even more unsettling. He walked across the room and flicked the kettle on before returning to Emerson’s side.

Suddenly Fitzgerald grabbed him by the neck, forced him to his feet and then slammed him face first down onto the table. Emerson barely managed to turn his face to avoid getting his nose broken and still the impact hurt considerably.

He felt Fitzgerald lean over him, the hand on his neck being replaced by a forearm, holding him down.

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Fitzgerald whispered into his ear.

“Fuck off”, Emerson replied, his voice shaking. It did bring back memories. The Krays had pinned him to a wall like this before….

“What I would have offered you”, Fitzgerald was clearly speaking to Chandler now, not to him. Emerson tried to buck him off but Fitzgerald’s grip on him was too strong. “I was going to give you a choice. You could’ve fucked pretty little Kent yourself but since you’ve made your choice, you now get so see me demonstrate on him what I’ve learned in prison.”

“You’re sick”, Chandler replied, his voice dripping with disgust.

“I’m just following orders”, Fitzgerald had the audacity to say. “Though it is personal, very much so.”

“Just let Kent go”, Chandler replied. “You said it yourself, this has nothing to do with him.”

“Oh, no, I said it’s not about him. But he’s very important here. He’s the innocent getting defiled tonight. The only thing you can spare him from is pain by doing it yourself.”

“You have a choice as well”, Chandler argued. “You can let him go.”

“I’ve made my choice”, Emerson could hear the grin in Fitzgerald’s voice. He could feel Fitzgerald’s free hand reach around and fumble to open his belt. Dread pooled in his stomach when he recalled Fitzgerald’s earlier threat. This couldn’t be happening. None of this could be real. He would wake up in his own bed from this nightmare any moment now.

His trousers fell to the floor but mercifully his pants stayed on.

“Stop that”, Chandler said with all the authority he could muster, but of course all of them knew that he had no power in his moment.

Fitzgerald held him down by his neck again as he said, “Those are some nasty scars.”

Emerson flinched when he felt a hand on his thighs and arse, caressing the skin. He hadn’t shown them to anyone but his doctor, had kept from being intimate with others. He could feel a thumb following the lines across his skin, underneath the edge of his pants and squirmed to get away but of course he was just as powerless against Fitzgerald as Chandler.

“Prison left me with some scars, too”, Fitzgerald said and Emerson startled as he raked his nails horizontally across the lines on his left leg. “Yeah, that looks better.”

The hand left and from the corner of his eye, Emerson could see that Fitzgerald was reaching for something in his pocket but couldn’t make out what it was.

“NO!” Chandler’s shout was the only warning Emerson had before the blade slashed through his skin, four times in quick succession, the same path the nails had taken.

He cried out in pain but there was more to it. For a moment he was back on the street and it was the Krays pinning him to the wall like a butterfly in a collection before slashing him. He had been just as helpless then.

Above him Fitzgerald shifted his stance and did the same to Emerson’s right leg as well. He let out a sob, born more from being in this situation again rather than the pain. The pain was bearable, at least for now.

“Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?” Fitzgerald offered.

“I’m okay, sir”, Emerson managed to say, “Don’t give in.”

“Kent – “

“Promise me, you won’t give in.”

“He will”, Fitzgerald sounded very confident. “And he’ll do it soon.”

Emerson yelled when Fitzgerald slapped his arse with his free hand. And again. And again. He tried to keep the façade but the pain got worse with every hit. He could feel the blood running down his legs, another sensation he wished he would never experience again.

Just as suddenly as it had started, Fitzgerald stopped. The click of the kettle boiling sounded abnormally loud and strangely threatening. Whatever it was there for, it couldn’t be anything good.

“Do you know one good thing about prison?” Fitzgerald asked and yanked Emerson’s underwear down.

Please no, Emerson thought, please no.

Chandler remained silent.

“It forces you to get creative”, Fitzgerald continued, his hand going back to caressing Emerson’s arse. “We’re not meant to have weapons after all. But this is good old England and they give us plenty of tea. Sugar, too.”

When he pressed himself against him, Emerson could feel that Fitzgerald was hard. He was enjoying this even more than he was letting on at the moment.

“If you touch him, I’ll kill you”; Chandler’s voice left no room for doubt.

“I’ll do worse than that”, Fitzgerald promised. The hand that had held Emerson down by his neck, wound itself through his hair and suddenly Fitzgerald lifted his head up and slammed it down onto the table.

The impact left Emerson numb for a moment and he didn’t realise that Fitzgerald had let go of him until he started talking again.

“Getting scalded by hot water is pretty bad but if you mix sugar in it, that’s worse. The sugar clings to skin, makes it blister so much worse.”

Emerson thought he heard water being poured, followed by the sound of ripped sugar sachets and the clink of a spoon, stirring in a mug. “Everyone’s always on about prison rape. No one really cares about the other tortures.”

He made a sluggish attempt to get up but his head and his legs hurt too much and he collapsed back onto the table top with a pained grunt.

“You’re sure you want to see this?” Fitzgerald was back behind him, hand grabbing his neck tightly, putting his weight into keeping him down. “Because I have. I’ve seen what it does to a man’s back when you pour it over him. I would start with his face but I want something pretty to look at when I fuck him.”

Emerson made another attempt but he had no leverage in his position and with his trousers and pants around his ankles he couldn’t even kick Fitzgerald.

“Please”, he heard Chandler say. “Please don’t do this.”

“I told you what you need to do if you want to spare him.”

“I – “

“Don’t”, Emerson managed to say. “Don’t, sir.”

“I give you until three to change your mind.”

Maybe he was hallucinating it but Emerson felt as if there was something hot hovering just over his back.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Thre – “

“I’ll do it”, Chandler interrupted him.

“No”, Emerson whispered but he couldn’t tell if either man had heard him.

“I knew you would”, Fitzgerald replied smugly. Emerson could hear a mug being set down and then Fitzgerald flipped him over onto his back and pulled his arms over his head, securing his tied hands on the table. He grinned down at Emerson. “I’m almost sad he gave in. Would’ve had my fun with you”, he said before kissing Emerson again.

It was just as repulsive as the first time around and feeling Fitzgerald rubbing against his body made it even worse. Emerson shivered with revulsion, clamping his jaw tightly shut.

Thankfully Fitzgerald eventually let go of him and walked around the table to unlock Chandler’s cuffs with one hand, holding the gun with the other though as far as Emerson could tell, he was aiming at him not at Chandler.

“Get to it”, Fitzgerald ordered him when Chandler lingered where he was. “If you don’t do it, I’ll shoot his fingers off first before I make good on my other threats.”

Clearly reluctantly Chandler walked around the table until he stood in front of Emerson, who felt very self-conscious about his nakedness all of sudden.

“Kiss him”, Fitzgerald demanded.

Glancing up at him, Emerson nodded to show that he didn’t mind, even though that was a lie. He did want Chandler to kiss him but not like this.

Chandler leaned over him, obviously out of his element, and pressed his lips to Emerson’s.

“Kiss him like you mean it, both of you”, Fitzgerald added, “Slip him some tongue.”

Emerson opened his mouth to make it easier. Fitzgerald had already proven that he wasn’t one for idle threats. It was not at all like he had imagined kissing Chandler to be and yet when he felt Chandler’s tongue against his, when he felt his lips moving against his mouth, it was not so different either.

At least for the initial moment. But neither of them wanted this and it made everything turn to ash.

“Get your cock out”, Fitzgerald interrupted them, shattering the illusion that maybe they could leave it here, that maybe they’d get rescued in time.

Their eyes met as Chandler pulled back and reached for his belt. “I’m sorry”, Chandler said as he followed Fitzgerald’s orders.

“It’s okay, sir”, Emerson tried to smile and failed. He looked up at the ceiling, not wanting to see what Chandler looked like. So many nights he had spent fantasising about him only to have his wish twisted into this.

"I...I can't..." Chandler said, sounding stressed and scared and part of Emerson wished he could comfort him.

"You'll have to", Fitzgerald replied. "You'll know what will happens if you don't."

"He's laid out for you like you always wanted", another voice joined in, female, older, and strangely clear as if she was right next to them although Emerson hadn't heard anyone else come into the room. "All that sweet, innocent flesh waiting just for you. He wants it, he wanted you since he first saw you. He is so willing, so ready for you."

Emerson heard Chandler's breath hitch in his throat. Louise Iver's words were getting to him.

"And you are so hungry for him", she continued. Emerson twisted his head but he couldn't see her anywhere in the room and from the brief glance he got off Fitzgerald upside down, he seemed to hear nothing. "You want to devour him, want to taste his flesh. It scared you, the strength of your desire, that's why you held yourself back. But look at him, tempting you now. You can have him."

When he looked at Chandler's face, his eyes were no longer hollow. Instead they were dark, pupils blown wide, and as he glanced further down, he could see Chandler jerking his cock, hard and beautiful and all Emerson ever dreamed about.

"See, I knew you could do it", Fitzgerald interrupted. If Louise Iver really was in the room with them, then he did a great job of pretending she wasn't there. Something was set hard down onto the table close to Emerson's chest. "Pour that on your cock, then push his legs up and fuck him already."

Emerson's breath quickened when he saw Chandler reach for the bottle of lube. HIs movements were slow, almost sluggish, as if he was doing it against his will.

"Look at him, he hates it", Louise Iver's voice was suddenly clear and strong in his ear as if she was speaking right into it. "He'll never look at you again without remembering how he was forced to do this. How you forced him to do this. He'll be repulsed by the very sight of you."

The worst thing was that she was right. Chandler would hate him for this.

"But you...no you're so desperate that you're enjoying this. He cannot violate you because you would've always consented to everything he wanted to do to you. But he doesn't want you. He never did and he never will."

"No", Emerson wasn't sure if he said the word out loud or not. She was wrong, she was wrong. Even though Chandler was right in front him, looking like an antique statue come to live, the very perfection of a man, Emerson didn't want him. He only wanted Chandler to want him.

Pain shot through him when he felt Chandler's hands gripping him behind his knees, pulling his legs up. Dread pooled in his stomach. This couldn't be happening. Any moment now their team or someone, anyone would come through the door and rescue them. 

No one ever came. 

Emerson cried out in pain as Chandler leaned in and pushed his legs over his shoulders. The position put a considerable strain on the wounds Fitzgerald had left earlier and he could feel fresh blood running down his skin.

"Look at him, so eager, so willing", Louise Iver's voice was back though Emerson could tell she was speaking to Chandler, not to him. "Just for you. He hasn't slept with anyone since you came into his life. You're doing him a favour."

He screamed when Chandler pushed into him, screamed and sobbed and twisted in his cuffs but there was nothing he could do. When Chandler was all the way in, he paused and this close Emerson could see the tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry", Chandler whispered. "I'm sorry."

He screamed again when Fitzgerald's knife embedded itself in his palm. 

"I said fuck him", Fitzgerald bellowed, pulling the knife out again.

Emerson closed his eyes. Maybe if he didn't see him, it would be easier to pretend that it wasn't Chandler. That it was some stranger doing this to him because his body was reacting to it, was sending waves of pleasure through his veins each time Chandler's cock hit that spot inside him. His own cock was hard and each time Chandler pushed in, it brushed against his stomach, making it even worse. 

"You should enjoy it", Louise Iver whispered in his ear. "It'll be the only time it happens. The only time he'll fuck you. He won't come near you after this, won't even look at you."

Somehow her voice made both the pain and the pleasure worse. He was close and so was Chandler, he could feel it in his rhythm faltering, in the hands that were gripping his hips harder and harder. A part of him was relieved, because hopefully it would all be over then. Louise Iver would've gotten what she wanted. But another, smaller part of him, the part that knew she was right with everything she was saying, wanted this to last, wanted to extend the only sex he'd ever have with Chandler. 

"Please", he said, not knowing who he was speaking to or what he was begging for.

"Do you regret denying yourself?" Emerson heard her ask Chandler. "Do you regret not pushing him down and taking him the moment you saw him? He would've been just as eager, just as willing, just as tight around you. Even bleeding and in pain he's begging for you."

Emerson came first, cock spurting over his stomach as Chandler fucked him through it. For a moment the pain was dulled to the point of nonexistence, only to crash into him harder as soon as it was over. 

He opened his eyes and saw that Chandler was looking at him with an unreadable expression. 

Chandler came with a gasp, pushing hard into Emerson's body as he spilled into him. Emerson thought he saw what looked like wings made of lightning stream from Chandler's back almost as if he was bleeding and Louise Iver was laughing triumphantly in his ear.


End file.
